


The Adventure of the Retired Novelist: The Simply Unacceptable Version

by Iwantthatcoat



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Solar Pons, infinity war - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Crossover, I do not believe this contains IW spoliers but it does reference it, Infinity War Fixit, Intentionally not Brit-picked
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 10:52:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14714679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iwantthatcoat/pseuds/Iwantthatcoat
Summary: Written for Holmestice Exchange.Does Lord Venler's appearance in "The Retired Novelist" seem a tad brief? And who came out of the mysterious wormhole hitherto unknown to science? (Spoiler: It is not Isadora Persono.) Dr Lyndon Parker, in his years chronicling the many adventures of Solar Pons and himself, certainly knows which parts of a story might be safely presented to the general public and which are simply unacceptable. Here is the simply unacceptable version- otherwise known as the far more complicated truth. Solar Pons (an established Holmes pastiche)/MCU crossover, with a guest appearance by a videogame horse with special powers and a passing reference to a character I sincerely hope OP will enjoy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gray_Cardinal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gray_Cardinal/gifts).



> Please note there are occasional non-British spellings and other errors regarding Brit-picking. This is a deliberate action in tribute to similar mistakes made by American August Derleth. This story does allude to events in Infinity War, though I do not believe it constitutes an actual spoiler.

_Flight Deck of the Benetar, Middle of Nowhere, Universe  
Fall 2018, sometime after lunch: _

Well, no one told me about her  
The way she lied  
Well no one told me about her  
How many people cried

But it's too late to say you're sorry  
How would I know, why should I care?  
Please don't bother trying to find her  
She's not—  


"I am Groot!" 

Quill snapped his head back, bouncing it against the seat’s padding. “You interrupted right at the best part! You know, the family that sings together cha-chings together!"

"Yeah, and besides,” Rocket glared at Groot, “ _of course_ you're not going! Do you _really_ think that you can just wander around without anyone spotting you? I mean, we can't even pretend you're cosplaying as an Ent for another 25 years."

"I am Groot."

Rocket shifted his glare to Quill. "Well at least this one didn't ask you to join him, running around _totally naked_. Not so much as a decent blaster! "

"Okay, I'm not saying it was my best plan, but, it would work. And I might need your help. You _are_ the only other one here who could, you know...blend in on Earth."

"No dice. And it only takes one of us to pick up a... what was it again?"

"The Peacock's Eye," said Gamora, not bothering to turn away from the console to face Rocket.

"Yeah, okay. Cool. I'm working on an eye collection."

Drax moved toward the front of the ship and joined the conversation. "It is said to be beautiful. But in spite of its beauty, it is a nucleus and focus of crime. Every good stone is. They are the devil's pet baits. In the larger and older jewels, every facet may stand for a bloody deed. And it's sparkly."

“Verrrry sparkly,” confirmed Mantis.

"And it’s unstable," Gamora added. "It changes color and some say even atomic properties. It cuts into glass as though it were putty, but its composition is rumored to be anything from aluminium and oxygen to crystallized charcoal. The color is blue now, but once it was definitely red. That's why they call it the Peacock Stone. It is always in flux. If the legend is true, it is many stones, all at once."

Rocket smirked. "So, it’ll go nice with any fancy dress.”

"So, it’ll change composition and become any stone you want, when you want," said Quill. "And besides, have you heard of gemstone weapons?"

Rocket gave him his full attention.

"They are horseshit," said Drax.

"Hey, every weapon is a good weapon," Rocket retorted.

"No, he means it literally," said Gamora. "Gemstone weapons are excreted out of a horse. They are only available by completing a quest, which gives you access to the..." She hesitated.

"The Butt Stallion," finished Drax.

"Yes. The horse is in a refuge on the planet Flamerock. It costs five eridium to produce a gemstone weapon. But this gem can change. So, in theory, the weapon can change."

"So, what do you do,” asked Rocket, “feed this horse stones and it poops out an arsenal?"

Quill smiled. "I don't care what they do with it. Someone is going to want to pay a shitload of credits for it. And that's good enough for me."

Gamora tried again for a somewhat more dignified conversation. "Legend has it the stone was tossed into the time stream—"

Quill was having none of that. "I bet they skipped it along the water and it made some nice patterns before it finally sunk into 1926 London. That's where it is. That's where we’re going.”

"And how will _we_ end up in London in 1926?” asked Mantis. Rocket looked to Drax, who shrugged. Gamora ignored them all. 

"I am Groot?"

" _Highly_ unlikely,” retorted Rocket.

Quill turned to Mantis. “Portal. I have the coordinates.”

“And I’m almost there,” Rocket added. “Of course he isn’t telling us _how_ he got the coordinates for a portal to 1926 London.” 

There was a long pause. "Magic," Quill finally answered.

"Ah, of course! Magic! Now why didn't I think of that? Oh, wait. I know why I didn’t.” 

"Well, a wizard with a timestone owes me a favor."

"What kind of favor could _you_ do for a wizard?" asked Drax.

"You all need to stop asking so many questions."

"He's lying," Drax said, and turned to leave the flight deck.

"I am not lying!"

"Sure. I believe you!" Rocket’s voice dripped with false sincerity.

"I am Groot!"

"Exactly!"

"Look, I..." Quill sighed and continued, "I loaned him money. For a sandwich. Apparently, his costume doesn't have pockets."

"Why not conjure up a sandwich?"

"Maybe because part of the joy of a good deli sandwich is in the atmosphere of a good deli?"

"So, he’s going to help us go back in time to get this thing. What's in it for him?" Rocket waited for a response. "Well. _Something's_ gotta be in it for him."

"I dunno. Maybe he wants it _out_ of London in 1926.”

"Why? And look!” Mantis pointed to a golden, sparkling ring of light which appeared before them.

"Look, I'm not a time-travelling, Earth-protecting wizard-dude. So, I take it the one who _is_ knows what he's doing. And I also take it that since the wizard-dude can see the future, we are pretty much _guaranteed_ to get this thing. Because it's already happened. See?"

No one said a word.

Finally, Rocket broke the silence. "A weapon that changes form whenever you want it to, you say?"


	2. Chapter 2

_Sitting Room of Consulting Detective Solar Pons, 7B Praed Street, London, England, Earth  
Fall 1926, sometime before tea:_

Solar Pons sighed. This had been a disappointingly elementary case, though doubtless Parker would still set it before the public, claiming some fascination with the ambience. A fascination he himself could not share. Truly, Pons supposed, it was not without aspects of interest and would make for good reading, even if the ratiocination had been minimal. Lamentable, how simple crime-solving had become as of late.

He turned the recovered gem over in his hands and stilled, realising something hitherto unnoticed; the colour of the stone was not quite the same as it had appeared that morning. Interesting. Perhaps traces of chromium caused varying light absorption, as with Alexandrite. He would have liked to have studied it for a bit beneath his lens and determined its exact composition, but Parker had just telephoned both Wilgreve, who was looking forward to clarification of the events of the past few days, as well as Lord Venler, who did not yet know he would be collecting his long-lost prize, and had invited the pair to Praed Street. 

Pons crossed to the fireplace and settled down into his armchair to smoke a pipe and wait. That's when he saw the odd, glowing circle of light. He rose, stunned. There was the proof, before his very own eyes, of the sentiment he had expressed to Parker earlier that very week— that there remains certain phenomena that science as yet has not correctly interpreted or explained. It went against all known to science at this point of development of man, but he could not deny what he was observing, and he felt privileged to serve as witness to this next milestone for humanity. 

Pons peered through the spinning wheels of fire, which rather resembled a Bonfire Night sparkler, and caught a glimpse of an entirely different locale therein. Suddenly, a man stepped through the center of it. He was tall, thin, and dark-haired with a well-defined and narrow face, and he wore a cloak of red velvet with a most unusual locket which rested upon a compactly-muscled chest. The circle, Pons supposed it some mystical doorway, closed itself behind him. 

"Mr Solar Pons, I am Dr Stephen Strange.” The man extended his hand and Pons shook it, striving for an appearance of casual interest which belied his excitement. “I need to talk to... to speak with you with regard to that stone." His words came slowly, as if he were considering each with deliberate care, modifying the phrasing before giving it voice. Perhaps he did so because he had come from another planet or another time (or quite possibly both, Pons thought) and now the man (the _doctor_ , though he did not resemble one in dress, nor did he possess other physical markers of a medical man) was forced to mimic the prevailing speech patterns within his new setting. 

The doctor gestured to the Peacock Stone, which remained in Pons's grasp. "You are about to hand that gem to Lord Venler, and I must ask you to deliver to him this version in its stead." He held out what appeared to be an identical stone.

"You do me a great disservice, good sir, if you knowingly provide me with a forgery and anticipate my willingness to so deceive others."

"That man is not your client. You were hired by retired novelist Thomas Wilgreve to determine why his house had been broken into, and you have served him well. I fail to see why you should owe any loyalty to one who has not sought you out."

"I do not consider my actions appropriate unless they afford for the stone to be returned to its rightful owner."

"Well, then. Since you won’t allow for the substitution of an indistinguishable facsimile, I think further explanation as to why this is of critical importance is warranted."

"Indeed."

"However, if the original owner and the dimwits at Scotland Yard were never to suspect the stone was a forgery, and did not call upon you, would you be more inclined to be satisfied with the outcome? If the stone was, _in every scientifically discernible aspect,_ identical."

"The officers at the Yard are fine men who do a fine job. I'll not have you malign my fellow investigators. Inspectors Jamison and Mecker are a pleasure to assist."

"Apologies. I do occasionally confuse you with your... illustrious predecessor, Sherlock Holmes."

"Ah. Yes. Mr Holmes has a far more adversarial relationship with the constabulary. It is in his nature to be harsh with everyone, himself included, I’m afraid. But to your point, it is a valid one. If, for the greater good, the stone was exchanged for another which had the same value and properties— impossible though that would be— and no one suspected its loss, it could hardly even be _termed_ a loss. I take it it would vary in… non-scientifically-discernible aspects?”

“Correct.”

“Is this stone required in the future?"

"Possibly. It is also safer there than it would be in the past. In the future, I can keep a watchful eye on it." Strange quirked an eyebrow. "Alternatively... it might be eaten by a diamond horse. But I do have plans to employ it for a far more noble purpose.”

"I see. What exactly does it do?"

"Under the right circumstances, it can transform into any stone you wish it to become, though the effect is limited in its power and longevity. It could even be used to trick someone into thinking they have exactly the stone they were seeking— that is, until they attempt to use it in the same manner as its antecedent. For merely ornamental purposes, it would be of no consequence. For…” Strange eyed Pons carefully, “... casting a spell… it would last only for a moment, for it would be a false element."

"I will not seek understanding, as much as I should wish to."

"In truth, I think that might be for the best." Strange raised his eyebrows, bemused. "You think of Venler as under your protection. I cannot help but wonder if this sense of obligation will remain through the end of the day. If you still insist upon returning the stone to its rightful owner, I have a band of thieves at the ready who can obtain it after your role in the matter is concluded… seeing as the esteemed Dr Parker will chronicle this case, and it will... inspire and delight a great many other writers and—“

“Speak naturally, Doctor. I have no doubt I can comprehend the shifts in language. Communication should not be so one-sided." Pons could see his guest’s shoulders relax. Good. The doctor was, indeed, strange, but there was no reason to forgo hospitality. 

"Okay, the thing is... I want to change as little as possible of the past, which is your present, and leave all the stories intact. Especially since Agent Ross’s niece Diana adores them. If I did anything to mess with the canon, she’d have my head on a platter.” 

Pons smiled. Not only was the man more at ease, but his voice had changed to a distinctly American accent.

Strange continued, muttering quietly to himself, “Though from what I’ve heard from Ross, I’d get a big reward from his disgraced brother Elliot if Diana would have ended up less interested in detective work.” 

“What… year is it, where ever you came from.”

“2018,” he replied. Pons was unaffected.

“And people still read Parker’s adventures?”

“Absolutely.”

Pons nodded. “He will be pleased to hear of it.” 

“So, this way you still get to have found the gem and to return it to Venler. Where your story ends, a new one will begin. One that won’t change yours at all. One that we can keep under wraps.” He paused. “That means to not—”

"Parker is the soul of discretion. Should anything need to be left unsaid, he will most assuredly,” he grinned, “keep it under wraps.”

"I have not the slightest hint of..." Strange chuckled quietly, then smiled broadly. "I know."

“And this false stone… how easy is it to create?”

Strange extended his arm with a closed fist and opened it. A perfect Peacock Stone rested within his palm. 

“Might I have that one as well?”

Strange furrowed his brow and then nodded. Pons plucked it up between finger and thumb. “This is equally changeable, then, but lacks… certain abilities?”

“Yes. It has the same properties, but not the same… well… let’s call it energy?”

“Well then, this one must stay protected at all times.” Pons handed the original stone to Strange. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly. 

Pons merely nodded.

“But perhaps we might arrange for a theft after all?” remarked Pons. “Three stones in total. One false stone to steal, one false stone to return to its original owner, who will believe it to be the genuine article, and the more— I don’t mind the term— _magical_ version, returns to the future with you to fulfil its destiny.”

“I thought you’d see things my way with a bit of background, but having two sets of fakes…? I hadn’t thought of that. The thieves still get to thieve and Venler still gets his pretty little rock. But isn’t it unnecessarily complicated? Why not just hand Venler the false one and be done with it?”

“Because any good deception must imitate truth. And truth is always more complicated than fiction. Lord Venler is far more likely to believe the replacement genuine if there is a greater complexity inherent in its return.”

“Sneaky. I’m glad you’re on my side.”

“You are not the first to have expressed this sentiment to me, Dr Strange.”

———

“You wanted to see me, Mr Pons?” Lord Venler was a tall, grim-faced man in his sixties, wearing impeccable afternoon dress. He fixed his keen grey eyes on Pons and glowered. 

“Yes, I believe I have something that belongs to your lordship.”

Pons retrieved the stone from his dressing gown and placed it upon the table. 

Venler’s expression quickly turned from shock to anger as he snatched the stone. “Where did you find it?” 

“Just where Parey put it— into the padding on the back of an old armchair in his sister’s house in St John's Wood.”

“He died without revealing anything. How came you to know this?” he accused.

Parker frowned and stepped forward. Should their guest’s already discourteous manner worsen, he stood ready to intervene. Pons would reassert his authority shortly, of this he was certain.

“Quite so. But one of his associates was in prison with him— the man who deceived your trusted staff with his cleverly-forged note, complete with a signature to match your own. His name was Guy Pilkington. It was he who was recently released and went on a quest for the stone. This brought him to Mr Wilgreve here— the owner of the home which housed the chair which, in turn, concealed the stone.”

Venler glanced toward Wilgreve, though he continued to address Pons. “I hope you have not brought him here to lay some sort of claim to my stone?” He then faced him directly “I should hardly think it merits any reward, Mr Wilgreve, save having you not brought before the assizes on conspiracy charges or for the possession of stolen goods.”

“Oh no, sir. The only reward I sought was the conclusion of the perplexing puzzle as to why I was continually lured away from my home.”

Pons smiled. “That, at least, was both easily and amicably provided.”

‘Amicably’ hung in the air as Lord Venlor stormed out the door without another word, only to be halted before the stair by Pons’s calling out to him. “Your lordship, I have reason to believe yet another set of thieves have their eyes fixed upon that stone. That is why I should like you to widely publicise its return. Make it the headline of every newspaper.”

Venler whisked round. “Nonsense, Mr Pons! I should keep its return a secret if I wish it to remain safe.”

“Quite the contrary. The stone they would be stealing from you would not be...” he held the second stone to the light… “this one.”

Venler eyed the stone held within Pons’s fingers, then looked back upon the one in his own hands. “Give it to me!” he commanded, advancing upon him. Pons obliged. “Well, clearly this is the original. It catches the light far better. Any idiot can see that upon closer examination. So, they are to steal this pathetic copy. And we will have them once they do so.”

“Does the stone hold a sentimental value to you?”

“Of course not. Its value is in its rarity. No one in England— no, no one on Earth— owns such an item.”

“Do you wish to display it to the public?”

“My concern with the gem lies only in my own knowledge that I possess such a singular item. I was begged to allow it to be studied and displayed by scientists who insist its properties hold some sort of scientific merit or, at the very least, might advance the study of mineralogy, but I have continually refused permission. Why should I care about such things? The stone is mine. It has one owner and is of use to no one else. No one need ever look upon the thing, save myself.”

“If you wish to keep this unique, color-changing stone safe, it would be far better to lure other members of Parey’s gang into thinking it well and truly stolen… a second time. Then you may publicly grieve its loss before coming to claim the one I will be holding for safekeeping.” Pons held his hand out, palm up.

Venler eyed Pons as if determining if the detective was trustworthy, and then reluctantly returned the stone to him, nodding. “Provided it stays safely within your possession. Not with either of _those_ two.” He gestured with a wave of the hand to Wilgreve and Parker.

Pons’s smile was disarming. “And do keep it safeguarded as if it were the original stone, though the thieves will certainly find a way to retrieve it, despite your best efforts. That triple-combination wall safe will likely prove inadequate.”

Venler gritted his teeth, but left the consulting room quickly and quietly. Wilgreve bid them a far more pleasant farewell and left as well.

“Well, Parker, I do believe the less we say about the abominable Lord Venler, the better.”

Parker nodded. He would be certain the written account treated him with far more respect than he deserved— by removing him from the narrative nearly entirely. “I had half a mind to let him storm out of here with the counterfeit, Pons.”

“Well, in truth,” Pons glanced downward, “the stone he will receive from me upon his return will not be genuine.”

Parker’s jaw dropped. “Pons!”

“I have an excellent reason, I assure you, dear fellow. It may very well save the universe. I believe the retelling of the events which transpired whilst you telephoned our guests may necessitate a strong beverage.”


	3. Chapter 3

_The Fall Home of Lord Venler, Outskirts of Somerset, England, Earth  
Fall 1926, sometime after tea:_

“Shut up.”

“No, _you_ shut up. Raccoons here don’t talk anyway.”

“Good thing I’m not one. So, there was nothing in the nightstand but a Bible. I still don’t see what’s so funny.” Quill’s laughter exploded in his earpiece yet again, and his words were framed around sharp intakes of breath as if it was difficult to speak without descending into a laughing fit once more.

“Not just... any old Bible… Gideon's Bible. And it’s… the only thing you found… in the drawer.”

“Yeah, that he was in the hospital, found God, and then decided to steal a Bible on the way out is kinda funny, but not that funny.”

“I’ll explain it later… Rocky. Now… go and pretend to be a raccoon for a bit.”

“Rocket. A ‘raccoon’ who’s broken out of 22 prisons and broken into 39 safes and is about to make it an even 40. Time to end this conversation.” He flicked the com to off. Rocket wanted to shove the device in his pocket, but he had no pocket. He had no clothing on whatsoever. Even he couldn't deny he looked a hell of a lot like an Earth raccoon, and if he was spotted he’d just be thrown outside. Or possibly shot and then thrown outside, as he’d pointed out back in the ship. Quill’s plans were occasionally a bit short-sighted. 

A safe was hidden somewhere. Probably in the study, but this guy was holed up in there, writing in a diary or _journal_ or something. Rocket could hear what sounded like a fountain pen scratching against paper. He’d probably be up all night doing it, too. The door was shut.

Rocket lifted a bowl of oranges from the kitchen table, held it for a moment, and smiled just before crashing it onto the tiled floor. The man rushed out of the study, leaving the door ajar. “Who’s there?” he cried. Rocket slipped past him and entered the room, concealed by the growing darkness. He was safely hidden within the study while the man grumbled curses and hastily hurried back, closing the door once more. 

Upon returning to his writing, the man mumbled to himself, “The nerve of him. Telling me my safe isn’t secure! I’ll report a theft in the morning all the same, but I’ll be damned if I let anyone break into my home and steal so much as a calling card from me!”

He headed straight to his portrait, which hung upon the wall directly across from the desk, and slid it aside. The light was dim, but Rocket’s sharp eyes had no problem noting the combination. He lifted the stone, examined it, then placed it back. “Hah! Safe as houses!” The man grabbed a heavy walking stick and once more set out to search for any hidden intruders. 

Good, thought Rocket. He isn’t armed. Not with anything that matters.

Rocket glanced over at the table, grabbed the pen and some paper, and jotted a quick note: _A lovely thing like this shouldn't be locked away. Not when it would make such a powerful blaster._ He opened the safe in no time at all, exchanged the paper for the gem, and sighed. Where was the challenge? Rocket went to the window and began working at the latch when the man returned. 

“Oh! So that's what was knocking my things about! Vermin!” He swung the metal-tipped stick at Rocket, who dodged it, and it shattered the window. Rocket darted out. 

Safely down the street, he turned the com back on. “Got it. Come pick me up, Mom, I wanna go home.” He ran off to the rendezvous point, happy to use just two legs again. If someone were to spot him, maybe they’d think he was rabid.


	4. Chapter 4

_Farm, The Planet Flamerock  
Fall 2018, sometime:_

“Here, Horsey, Horsey. I have a tasty snack for you!” Rocket fed the horse five eridium and one very special stone.

Quill kicked at a rock in the dusty ground surrounding the stall. “I still don’t get why we didn’t sell it.”

“Well, next time you do all the work, you get to decide what to do with the prize.”

“This better be worth it.”

“It’s a gun. Made out of gemstones. That changes form whenever I want it to. How could it possibly not be worth it?”

Rocket waited for the stallion to finish. A few seconds later, a projectile of some type flew out from the horse’s posterior and streaked across the sky. Rocket whooped and ran after it.

Quill, somewhat less enthusiastically, followed.

There, nestled in a wild raspberry bush, was an emerald-green sniper rifle. Rocket picked it up and caressed it tenderly. “Now, to see if it works.” He aimed at a weathervane on top of a barn in the distance. Quill finally caught up to him as he was about to take his shot.

“Yes! Perfect! And if I needed, say, a…” Rocket wasn't sure what he was about to ask it to morph into, but it hadn’t been a ruby pistol. He was pretty sure a pistol would have been much further down the list. A grenade launcher was always a favorite; he was pretty sure he was going to say ‘grenade launcher’. But he now held a rather fine weapon in its own right. He aimed at a fencepost and fired. Once the shot hit its target, the weapon transformed yet again into an aquamarine submachine gun.

“Oooh pretty!” Rocket squeaked.

It, too, changed upon having been fired— this time into a shiny, black assault rifle. Maybe it was jet? Obsidian? Rocket didn’t know and didn't care. It was gorgeous.

Quill moved closer. “Looks like it’s a bit unstable.”

“Yes,” Rocket said, his eyes misting over. “Unstable, deadly, and there’s only one in the world. Just like me.” He hugged it close. “Let’s go.”


	5. Chapter 5

_Sanctum Sanctorum, 177A Bleecker Street, Greenwich Village, New York, USA, Earth  
Out of the timestream:_

Strange sat in lotus position, his hands resting upon his knees, as he hovered a good foot above the floor and thought. Hopefully, it would never come to this. But if it did…

He removed the Timestone from its case and placed it on the floor, aligning it carefully with the Peacock Stone, and began his incantation.


End file.
